


Milk and Honey Flow

by fistfight



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fistfight/pseuds/fistfight
Summary: Kenny gets Hanahaki disease, because all God ever does, apparently, is think up new bullshit ways for him to die slowly and painfully.





	1. Preface

 

Kenny's alarm rips him out of sleep with a gasp, and as he fumbles for his phone, he feels a scratchiness in the back of his throat that indicates a cold or cough or some other bullshit disease is coming soon to torture him for a while.

It doesn’t hurt enough for him to miss school or work, but he considers it for a second anyways, until his phone buzzes with a notification from Kyle saying he's picking him up in fifteen minutes. Reluctantly, he drags himself out of his bed and back into his reality of responsibilities and obligations.

He showers, gets ready, and shoves his shit in his backpack, making it outside by Kyle's second honk.  

"You're always late, dude," Kyle says, as Kenny slides into the passenger seat. "You're lucky Stan and Cartman went early, or else I would have skipped you."

"Kyle, if you don't want to force yourself to come all the way across the tracks to get my ass, just say so."

"Fuck you." Kyle says, with more resignation than bite in his tone.

"In your dreams, baby."

Kyle doesn't call Kenny a faggot in response, and he resists the urge to do it himself, especially when Kyle doesn't say anything at all and just looks intently at the road.

"So," says Kenny, trying to distract from the strange anxiety blooming in his stomach, the kind he always gets when his mouth works faster than his mind, "How _are_ you, Kyle?"

"Shitty.” Kyle says flatly, then elaborates, “Token's sick and now I have to do a whole group project with just motherfucking Clyde."

"Rough stuff, buddy. You sure Token isn't just faking to get back at you for hooking up with Bebe at his party?"

"That was like, a month ago. And we didn't fucking hook up, we just -" Kyle pauses to honk at a pedestrian, "we just talked."

Kenny clicks his tongue. "Could still be faking, though. Token can be tricky bastard sometimes.”

Kyle doesn't respond for a second. He parks and turns off his car, and Kenny unbuckles but doesn't get out when he notices Kyle's still strapped in, keys still in the ignition.

"Kyle?"

"Someone said they saw him holding petals in the nurse's office last Friday." Kyle says softly, his voice a strange monotone Kenny rarely hears.

"Petals...?"

"Hanahaki, dipshit." Kyle says, back to his usual sharpness.

"Oh." Kenny says, "Shit."

They get out of Kyle's Jeep silently. The guilt of killing the mood mixes with Kenny's hunger pangs, and he crosses his arms over his stomach to try and suppress the feeling. At least the anxiety is lost beneath it.

Kenny fills the awkward void he created with small talk about their classes, which Kyle thankfully responds to, as they walk through the doors and to their respective classes.

"See you later, dude." Kyle calls as he turns a corner.

Kenny waves, and heads off to start another seven hours of being bored out of his fucking mind.

Unsurprisingly, the halls and classes are filled with whispers about Token’s apparent diagnosis, crescendoing to full-blown conversations at lunch as everyone realizes Bebe’s not coming to school that day, either.

“He might as well get the surgery, he’s rich enough.” he overhears as he makes his way to their usual table.

He sits down and whips out his procrastinated physics homework due the next period.

Kyle and Stan sit across from him, engrossed in a conversation that keeps going after he mutters a “hey” towards them.

What the fuck is a beta particle?

“What the fuck is a beta particle?” he asks out loud.

“I don’t know what a beta particle is,” says Cartman, sitting down to join them, “but I know what a beta male is, and it’s fucking Token, for getting so pussy whipped that he’s choking to death on some faggy fucking flowers.”

“Not cool, Cartman,” says Kyle, abruptly ending his conversation with Stan, who chimes in with a distracted “yeah.”

So they’ll ignore Kenny’s academia but engage in banter with Cartman? He opens his mouth to call them out but coughs instead, reviving his throat pain from earlier.

“You’re fucking _making fun_ of him now, Kenny? That’s really sad, dude.”

“No, dude,” he coughs again, what the _hell_ , “I swear it’s just shitty timing.”

Before Kyle can respond (with something negative, judging by the look on his face), Cartman bursts out laughing, then switches over to fake coughing.

“Kenny.” he coughs, giggling through it, “I’m dying because I’m wildly in love with a girl who’s a total fucking slut.”

“Come on you guys,” says Stan, clearly trying to calm Kyle’s growing agitation, “be cool about this.”

Kenny feels another cough rising up in his throat, but manages to swallow this one back down. “I really had to cough dude. Cartman’s just being a dick, don’t force me in with him. Can I have some of your water, Stan? My throat, is like, actually killing me.”

Bad phrasing, Kenny realizes, as Cartman starts laughing again.

“Can you guys fucking stop? Please?”

Cartman, to his credit, stops laughing enough to say, “Oh, Kyle, you’re begging now? Is it because it’s all your fault he’s sick in the first place?”

Kyle’s face holds a manifestation of every negative emotion in existence for a brief moment before he stands up from the table, grabbing his lunch and his back and storming off.

Kenny watches him go and feels his legs twitch to follow him, but the glare Stan shoots him holds him back. He watches them disappear around the corner, feeling numb.

“High five, dude.” Says Cartman.

Kenny, still in a state of mixed emotions, weakly puts up his palm for him to slap.

His hand stings.

His throat is on fire.

He’s not sure why he’s more pissed at himself than he is at Cartman, who is now abandoning him to “leech off of Butters’ mint Oreos.”

Kenny finishes his homework and makes it to class just before the period starts.

With the amount he’s even looking at the teacher and the lack of notes he’s taking, he might as well just ditched if not for the attendance credit.

Not that he ever paid attention to what was going on in school before, but he can feel himself drifting even further away than his usual daydreams, his mind defaulting to a blank autopilot as he stares off into space for the remainder of the day.

It’s not until they’re dismissed that Kenny snaps out of it. Education is a soulless trap, he reasons.

Unsure of who in his usual group he’s going to be able to conduct a civil interaction with, he finds Butters’ on the way out, who he greets with a slap on this ass as he’s rummaging through his locker.

“Oh!” Butters whips around, eyebrows to his forehead. He relaxes when he sees his assaulter. “Heya, Ken.”

“Stay sharp, Butters. Might not be me next time.”

“I don’t want there to be a next time, Kenny,” he responds, zipping up his parka. “No coat?” he asks, eyeing the fading black denim Kenny had layered over a hoodie.

“Forgot it again. My bad.” He shrugs.

It’s only kind of a lie. He managed to get it off himself in an attempt to save himself from it weighing him down and drowning him in Stark’s Pond the other week, but ended up getting a cramp and not making it anyways.

It’s just a question of when he wants to get hypothermia at this point. Either an specially cold night after work, or when he actually makes it down to where his jacket is (but not back up).

Butters, of course, isn't convinced. “If you say so, Ken." He says, looking ready to grill him on it some more, "Oh, I gotta go. French club is starting up pretty soon.”

Butters disappears into a classroom.

Kenny puts his hand up to the closing door in a silent goodbye.

He wanders with the crowd out to the outside, instinctively towards the parking lot. Kyle was supposed to drive them all home again, but given how lunch went, Kenny thinks he’ll be walking.

Fucking bummer, especially since a storm was picking up. The winds pick up and blow small, icy snowflakes into his face, making it hard to breathe. He coughs again. Fuck. He should have stopped in the nurse’s office for Halls.

He looks around, just to make sure he can’t guilt someone into a ride. Maybe also to make sure Kyle wasn’t within earshot.

It’s a no for both. Kenny tugs his hood up and tightens the strings, then starts on his walk home, where he’ll be able to stay for - he checks his phone - ten minutes before he has to leave again for work.

Well. He can always do his homework after.

Kenny is about fifteen minutes down the street when he hears someone honk behind him. He whips his hands out of his pockets to give the middle finger to whichever asshole just made him flinch like a dumbass.

The asshole in question turned out to be Kyle. With Stan in the passenger seat, and Cartman in absentia from his usual spot in the back.

Stan puts down his window as Kenny puts down his fingers.

“C’mon and get in, dude.” says Stan. Kyle doesn’t say anything.

Kenny’s not about to let some pansy fucking guilt override a God-given opportunity to not be miserable for the duration of his would-be hour left walking.

“Thanks, man.” he says, climbing in, remembering to kick off the snow from his shoes before he got in, just to keep them on the less-pissy side.

“Mhm.” is Kyle’s response.

“Hey,” says Stan, “Sorry I freaked out about you coughing earlier. I forgot you get sick all the time, I guess.”

God. Fucking Stan. What a stand-up guy. The morals on this dude, Kenny thinks, have to be unmatched by any and all in South Park.

“It’s cool, dude. Probably my fault for not eating enough fruit and letting my immune system rot.”

“Kenny.”

“Yeah, Kyle?”

“I’m only done being pissed at you because I’m going to feel like a huge fucking douche if it turns out you’re actually sick.”

Kenny thinks about arguing with that, about how he has like, at least slightly more empathy than Cartman, but remembers the ride to school that morning and the look on his face at lunch, and thinks better of it.

“Baby, I’ll be in the hospital by the end of the week, just you wait.”

“I’ll stop this car and make you walk, Kenny.”

“By the end of the day, in that case.” Kenny says.

Kyle sighs, but Kenny can tell he’s not _as_ mad anymore.

Stan gets dropped off first, since Kenny lives closer to Kyle.

“See you tomorrow, dude.” Kenny calls as he hops out.

Kyle turns off the music as soon as the door shuts.

Shit. Is he going to get a fucking lecture from Kyle?

“Kenny,” Kyle says, briefly making eye contact as he turns around to back out of the Marsh home’s driveway, “At the party with Bebe, when we… talked.”

_Talked._ Yeah, right.

“Yeah. Right.” he says, in a much more sincere tone than the one in his head.

“She said a lot of shit I definitely don’t trust you with,” Kyle says.

“Okay….”

“And she also said…” Kyle pinches the bridge of his nose, “I could just say the word, and she’d break up with him.”

“You didn’t, right? I mean, they’re still together? Unless….”

“They’re definitely still together,” Kyle cuts him off, “That’s a definite, I called her at lunch to make sure. Anyways. The party. I said I’d never be the one to fuck up what they had. And I said her own feelings are her decision, and that a relationship is a structure built on mutual trust and reciprocation and love, and don’t you fucking dare quote me on all this gay shit.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kenny breathes out.

Kyle pulls into his driveway, right along the path his dad’s truck has formed, the only place on the whole thing that’s not covered in feet of snow.

“My point is,” Kyle starts, and turns around to look at Kenny. “My point is,” he starts again. Kenny watches his eyes look left, right, and then down, he sees the bags under Kyle’s eyes and he swears he sees tears forming in the corners.

“Kyle,” he says. “I know this isn’t your fault. Something like this could never be your fault.”

Kyle doesn’t say anything.

“He’s gonna get better.”

“I know.” Kyle says. He turns around again.

“Thanks for the ride, dude.”

Kenny hops out, landing in a pile of snow that goes up to his shins.

Kyle salutes him and backs out. Kenny watches his car disappear over the tracks as he trudges up to his front door.

The wind picks up again and he coughs, a whole fit like he’s got something stuck in his throat. He hasn’t eaten all day. He covers his mouth and runs to the side of the house, hoping it’s just bile and not blood.

He bends over and coughs again, finally feeling whatever it was dislodge from his esophagus.

Kenny watches a single white petal fall down and land on top of the snow, before being picked up by the wind, disappearing with the snowflakes.

"Oh, dude." he says to himself. "That is so fucking gay."


	2. Envy

In Kenny’s relatively qualified opinion, if what’s killing him isn’t going to kill anyone else, it’s best to just let it pass. None of this situation is new, really. His big gay crush on Kyle had been cultivating since middle school, and bizarre, painful deaths had been striking him for longer than he could remember. The two combined weren’t really any more of a threat. 

The biggest risk in this case is someone finding out. Coughing up flowers isn’t exactly a common symptom, and coughing in general is sure to get him sent home from work, which he really can’t afford right now. Or ever.

Kenny goes to the bathroom to examine his throat, shoving his fingers inside his mouth until he feels them scratch against the back of it. 

Kenny never really spends time looking down his own throat, but from what he’s seen from others, it seems pretty normal in there. Just a little red, maybe.

He takes his fingers out and wipes the spit on his jeans. 

He’s gone to work with much worse, anyways.

He pulls his hoodie up to cover his nose and mouth on his walk to the bus stop, and leaves it there on the ride, too. His stupid childhood habit he never dropped. At least he has the excuse that he’s sick now, and he can make it a trend like medical masks in Japan.

He gets to work and clocks in, the mindless buzz of capitalism distracts him from his life and from his illness. He works robotically in the back and naturally in the front, flirting his way to the top of the tip jar.

He sees a ginger come in and for a second he thinks it’s Kyle, finally come to visit him at South Park’s sexiest (and only) Chipotle. But it’s just some other redhead, with much worse bone structure and way more freckles. Probably not even Jewish.

It’s not until he’s shoving his first quesadilla of the night into his mouth that he remembers the pain that started this morning, the food scratching along his irritated throat.

“Oh my God,” he complains, mouth full of tortilla and cheese and ten bucks worth of guacamole, “This bullshit is taking away my one joy in life.”

Well, technically, from what he remembers from elementary school science class, it’s going to fuck up a whole lot more. But that should all go away. Eventually.

 

-

 

Kenny finishes his shift and collapses on his bed as soon as he gets home. He feels sleep weighing down his entire body, his exhaustion convincing him to give into sleep, but he sees his backpack in the corner and remembers his homework.

It’s only U.S. History, which he could probably get away with not doing at least a couple times more, but he thinks about how many hours Kyle wasted tutoring him for the last two tests to get his grade up and feels guilt replace his desire to sleep.

Fucking Kyle. Really permeating every aspect of his life, huh. 

Kenny thinks too hard, or something, and he coughs again, another petal coming up. The first one since that afternoon.

He brushes it off of his textbook pages and hopes it’ll shrivel up before anyone notices.

 

-

 

The carpool the next morning has Stan back in his usual seat in the front. Kenny always sits in the back but he thinks back to sitting alone next to Kyle yesterday morning, how the proximity escalated Kyle’s bad mood and made Kenny feel like he was able to do something about it. Kenny hops in the back and sees that it’s lacking Cartman again, which Kenny doesn’t necessarily have any complaints about.

His throat still hurts but not too much to bother Kyle about it, saying, “Wow, I’m glad you still like me more than Cartman, dude.”

“You’re on thin fucking ice, Kenny.” says Kyle in response. The fact that he responded at all means that he’s not  _ as _ pissed as he could be, but Kyle holds grudges like it’s an Olympic sport, and he’s going for fucking gold.

Kenny laughs it off, though. The sounds bubble up but gets caught in his throat, making him cough a couple times, pushing a petal out and into the hand covering his mouth. He shoves it in his pocket before Stan or Kyle can peek into the rearview to glare at him.

“Ow,” he says, “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t spread your fucking germs in my car, Kenny,” says Kyle. 

“You say that even when I’m not sick, dude.”

“I do  _ not _ .”

“Actually,” says Stan, “you really do.”

“Thank you, Stan. Kyle, I’m going to fucking breathe all my dirty air on you if you’re not careful.”

Kyle doesn’t respond to that. Kenny doesn’t know why that bothers him. He was gay for Kyle before he got sick and he’d still hit on him before and after every joke he made at his expense, but now something in his brain is whispering for him to stay away.

When they get out, Kyle and Stan hold a conversation about a class they have together and Kenny becomes the awkward third wheel again, following behind them like he’s attached with leash.

Stan heads up to his class right away but Kyle doesn’t follow, and Kenny takes this opportunity to slide the fuck in.

“Feeling any better, dude?”

“Actually, yeah. Bebe texted last night. They’re supposed to come back today.”

Silence falls over the buzzing hallways, and Kenny turns his head with everyone else’s to see the “they” in question, Token and Bebe linked hand in hand, looking like they’d never had a life-threatening disease in the way of the sanctity of their relationship. As they walk a crowd follows, of Bebe’s friends and other random students interested in gossip.

Kenny follows as Kyle approaches them, forming a circle with him, Wendy, and the happy couple, with Kenny on the outskirts.

“It’s like I was saying last night, you guys,” Bebe is saying, leaning her head against Token’s chest, “I guess my heart finally made the right decision after I saw he was so in love with me he literally got sick. Don’t know why it took so long.”

Kyle and Wendy voice their admiration. Kenny watches Kyle smile at them both in a way that makes him look like he’s not actually happy, the way his eyes stay as dead and he makes eye contact for too long. 

Kenny swallows down whatever he thinks that could mean, along with the cough threatening to come out.

“Token,” he interupts, slapping the shoulder of his friend, “You are going to get the best fucking pussy of your life tonight, my dude.”

Kyle wrinkles his nose at him, but Token laughs and Bebe giggles, a feminine sound that Kenny thinks is definitely too pretty to be real. 

“Actually, guys, I’m having a party tonight, to celebrate and shit. You guys should definitely come. Spread the word, alright?”

“We’ll be there,” says Kyle.

Token and Bebe are called away by Bebe’s friends again, and Kyle begins walking faster to his class. Kenny knows he’s never been late, or even missed the first bell. What a fucking loser. He speeds up to match his pace anyways.

“Can’t believe I’m invited back after what I did with that dude in his bathroom last time.” says Kenny.

“That’s fucking gross, dude.” Kyle responds.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t think it was gross if you were the dude. Find me after I’ve had a few shots tonight and we’ll make it happen.” 

Kyle sighs and grinds out a “bye, Kenny,” before slipping into his classroom.

Kenny wastes no time sprinting to the nearest bathroom and locking himself in a stall, kneeling over the toilet and hacking up more white petals, this time at least half a dozen more than his usual one or two.

He wonders what kind of flowers they are. If he ever gets to a full blossom, he’ll have to look it up. He knows it’s probably less of an “if” and more of a “when,” the way Kyle’s interactions with him have been more taut as of late.

He flushes and goes to class.

 

-

 

The return of Bebe and Token set Park County High School back to its usual normalcy. They’re still the only thing anyone wants to talk about, but the fact that Token isn’t about to get fucking annihilated by some flowers and that love is real and all that shit inspires a new positivity in the atmosphere. 

At lunch, Kenny shoves the peanut butter sandwich he remembered to make this morning in his mouth and watches Cartman tentatively approach their table. He turns around before Kyle can see him and returns a minute later with Butters as a buffer. Good move, he thinks.

“You going to the party, Butters?” Kenny asks. He sits in Cartman’s usual seat, next to Kenny and across from Stan.

“I wish. My parents would kill me if they found out, though. And there’s no way I’d be able to stay past eleven.”

“Aw, don’t let their dumbass rules stop you from having a little fun, dude. Who knows, maybe this time you can get away with something stronger than Token’s mom’s rosé.”

“That shit’s fucking high quality, though,” says Stan. “I looked it up, it costs like a hundred bucks a bottle.”

“I don’t know, guys. And even if I did come, I’d just be a D.D. anyways.” 

Kenny turns his whole body to Butters, slowly and dramatically reaching his hand up to cup his face. “Butters,” he says, “I know it’s hard. I know the risks, but please. Come. If not for you, then, for me?” Kenny presses his other hand to Butters’ chest, right over his heart.

Butters, oblivious as always, just says, “Well, okay Kenny. I’ll see what excuse I can come up with.”

Cartman gags audibly. “Can you not be fucking queer with poor Butters while I’m trying to eat my fucking pizza?”

“What?” says Butters.

Kyle ignores him. “Yeah, actually, I agree with Cartman. Stop defiling Butters, dude.”

Kenny gasps in mock surprise. “Defiling? Kyle, I expected Cartman to say such hateful words, but for you to oppress me like this? I’m hurt.”

“Stop.”

“Unless, of course,” Kenny says, leaning across the table to touch Kyle’s face like he did with Butters, “You want me to defile you instead?”

Kyle slaps his hand away. “Trust me, that’s the last thing I want.”

Kenny knows this, of course, and so does the stupid fucking plant in his lungs, as he feels some petals shake loose and get caught in his airway. No time to run to the bathroom, he slaps a hand over his mouth and awkwardly tries to swallow them.

“Kenny? You alright, dude?” Stan asks.

Kenny’s throat makes a gross, wet noise as the petals mix with his spit on the way back down. “Probably.” he responds, hoping there’s nothing left in his mouth. “I’ve had worse.”

“Maybe you have a fever.” Butters suggests. “Your hand was kind of clammy earlier.”

“Usually fevers don’t make you cough.” Kyle says. He leans across the table and moves Kenny’s bangs aside, then presses the back of his hand to his forehead. Kenny doesn’t have a fever but swears he can feel himself heat up anyways.

“Nope.” Kyle says, sitting back down. “Something else. He feels normal.”

“Med school prodigy right there.” Cartman croons. “Well on the way to curing cancer, at this rate.”

“Maybe you need to check my temperature with a rectal thermometer, Kyle. Get a more accurate reading.”

“I’d rather let you die.”

Kenny believes that.

 

-

 

Kenny’s the last one to Kyle’s car in the parking lot, delayed from taking the time to make a detour to the bathroom to cough up any loose petals that might have otherwise come up during the ride.

“If you take that long again I’m just going home without you, Kenny. There’s so much fucking traffic.” 

There’s like, two fucking cars ahead of them at the light.

Kenny doesn’t say that, because Cartman, who had been re-accepted, points it out before he can.

“Cartman, if Stan and Kenny are both here before you, I don’t give a fuck if your hand is on the goddamn door handle, I’m not driving you home.”

“Way harsh, Kyle. I  _ make _ the atmosphere of these rides and you know it.”

“The only thing you’re making right now is me want to kill myself. This is your stop, fatass.”

“Bye, Jewbag.” Cartman slams the door on the way out.

Kenny scoots to the hump seat, placing his hands on Stan and Kyle’s shoulders. Fuck, Stan’s shoulders are  _ solid _ .

“Put your goddamn seatbelt on, Kenny.” says Kyle, shrugging his hand off. Stan lets him stay.

“Planning on crashing, Kyle?”

“I am now.” he says, and breaks suddenly, making Kenny fall forward and hit his nose on the center console.

“Jesus Christ dude, I think my nose is bleeding.”

“Don’t get your fucking bodily fluids in my car, Kenny.” Kyle says.

“Oh?” says Kenny, nasal from pinching his nose, “What kinds of fluids? Because for some, it’s kind of too late to take preventative measures.”

Kyle pulls into Kenny’s driveway.

“Well. See you guys tonight, then.” Kenny says.

“See you, Kenny.” Stan.

“Goodbye, Mccormick.” Kyle.

Kenny wastes no time keeling over into a coughing fit as soon as Kyle’s car is out of sight. Blood dots the snow around the petals, but he’s not sure if it’s from his nose or his irritated throat.

He kicks snow over the evidence and heads inside.

 

-

 

Kenny shows up late to the party because he fell asleep and woke up an hour after it started. His phone is full of notifications from Butters, who is wondering where he is, and Cartman, who keeps sending him memes about Asians. He ends up getting a ride with Craig and Tweek, who do gay shit in the front seat while Clyde, in the backseat with him, complains.

“I’ll do gay shit with you, Clyde. We can ask Craig and Tweek for a rundown on their bedtime activities so we can have an authentic experience.”

Clyde blushes. 

At least these pick up lines are working on some people.

Not the important ones, apparently, because as soon as he gets inside, immediately rushes to the bathroom to clear his throat. There’s even more petals than today at school.

He needs a drink.

To get everything started, Kenny takes a long pull from an unattended bottle of Absolut. Then, to go back to drinking a socially acceptable amount, he mixes himself a vodka sprite and finds his usual group.

There’s an aura that he, Stan, Cartman, and Kyle have when they’re together, something intimidating that pushes people back a couple feet. He joins their circle and feels a change in the atmosphere already. Something weird is going to happen tonight, he can feel it.

He slings an arm over Kyle’s shoulders, startling him and sloshing his drink, something dark, over the edge of his Solo cup.

“Heya, Kyle.” he says. “Drunk enough to suck my dick?”

“Not even close.”

“Please stop being gay all over the place, Kenny. It’s making me feel ashamed to stand within five feet of you.”

“I’m only half gay, Cartman. I could do this to women, but I don’t because I respect them.”

“Respect men a little more, then?” suggests Stan.

“Never.”

 

-

 

Kenny gets drunker in the next two hours than he would have liked. Usually he paces himself with this shit, his constant internal monologue of “don’t turn out like your parents” getting especially loud when he’s around alcohol, but something about tonight has made him down more shots than usual. 

Since nobody else from South Park has any level of self-control, really, he ends up being just as not-sober as anyone else. 

Kenny kind of hates parties sometimes because his compulsive need to do something is halted by the fact that he’s just in someone’s house all night. He’s on the couch playing smash, sitting on the arm next to Kyle, despite there being plenty of empty chairs. Kyle is either too focused on not dying or too drunk to say anything, and Kenny takes advantage of that, edging into his personal space until his lack of coordination makes him topple over onto Kyle’s lap.

“Kenny! Jesus Christ, dude, you made me fucking fall off the platform.”

“Sorry,” Kenny says.

Kyle doesn’t push him off. Instead, he moves to the side a little bit, making room for Kenny to sit. Kenny adjusts himself but continues to lean against Kyle, head on his shoulder. 

He feels warm and fuzzy, and it reminds him of his parka at the bottom of the pond. This is nice. This is - this is what they could have, he thinks, if Kyle would calm down a little bit. His throat hurts but Kenny doesn’t know if it’s from the alcohol or the petals. He hasn’t had any problems since getting here. 

But before he can get too comfortable, Kyle gets a text, then another, jarring Kenny off as he reaches in his back pocket for his phone. 

“ _ Let’s talk before i forget” _ the first message says. “ _ Meet me upstairs pls.” _

Both are from Bebe.

Kyle stands up and pockets his phone again, muttering, “gotta piss” as his excuse. 

What a lying bastard. Not even staring at Kyle’s ass as he walks away makes this any better.

Kenny finishes the last of what was in his cup. It was rum and Coke but he thinks he put in more rum than Coke so it ended up just being a sweeter version of Bacardi.

Fuck. He’s gonna follow Kyle.

 

-

 

Kenny goes as quietly as he can upstairs, which, save for a couple instances of losing his balance and falling into the wall, he thinks he does a pretty good job. He listens for voices and finds them at the end of the hall. In a bedroom that Kenny walks past, at first, unsuspecting because they left the door open a crack. He slouches down and peers inside, and can see Bebe and Kyle sitting on the bed together.

“It’s really okay,” Bebe is saying. “I just want to know the truth.”

“I’m telling you, Bebe,” Kyle responds. He sounds a little louder, a little angrier than he should be, Kenny thinks it’s because of the alcohol and that makes him want to laugh. “I really haven’t liked you since like, ninth grade.”

“That long ago, huh.” She says. Kenny watches her move her hand to sit on top of Kyle’s. Kyle doesn’t move away.

Kenny’s stomach feels weird.

“Well,” she says. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m not a fucking liar.”

“Didn’t say you were, honey.”

Kenny watches her stand up. Kyle stays sitting, watching her stretch her arms above her head and making her shirt ride up enough to show off her midriff.

“I’m glad we’re still close, anyways.” she continues, ignoring his staring. “This has been rough.”

Kyle stands up now, too. Kenny kind of wishes he would stretch as well, but he doesn’t. He wraps his arms around Bebe’s waist and kisses the top of her head. 

“Always.” he says, a moment of tenderness Kenny immediately envies, that he knows is reserved for the types of relationships Kyle has with people that aren’t like him.

It makes Kenny feel sick. Literally. The nausea travels from his spinning head down to his stomach. Unsure of what will happen to the contents of his stomach if he stands, Kenny crawls down the hall to the bathroom, neglects to shut the door, and pukes his fucking guts out.

The toilet bowl is a beautiful mixture of vomit and petals. Fucking gross. Kenny flushes and tries to stand up again but another wave of nausea hits him and this time he feels something more solid come up.

Full flower buds, he sees, with the water turning pink from the blood accompanying it.

Kenny hears someone coming down the hallway. 

Fuck. He has to leave.

Kenny gets up and walks out as quickly and casually as he can. He gets all the way down the stairs without anyone seeing him, he’s pretty sure. He hears fucking Kyle and Bebe coming down the stairs and feels panicky, like if they’ll see him, they’ll connect the dots about his listening in. As though their conversation wasn’t purely platonic. He knows this, and still, he reacts like a fucking dumbass, anyways.

He realizes he forgot to flush the toilet.

He runs outside. He keeps fucking running, and he doesn’t know for how long, but it feels like forever, and he knows it was, because he’s halfway across town by now and his lungs are on fire and he can’t feel his fingers or even his arms, he’s entirely too fucking cold and he wants his fucking jacket back.

He coughs up more flower buds, feeling entirely too loud and exposed even though it’s the middle of the night and there’s nobody in sight.

He keeps running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly i hate the beginning of this but i really like the end. also SORRY it's a lot less angsty overall than i thought it would be?? 
> 
> plenty of time to fix that tho lmao
> 
> //
> 
> edit march 19th:
> 
> hey guys! sorry i haven't updated in forever! don't worry the update is basically written but as a commitment to my tragic academic career i'm waiting until my exams are over to post. thanks so much for all the support i really can't tell you how much it means to me!!!

**Author's Note:**

> get ready for some mf angst


End file.
